American Resistance: Untold Story of Remy Elridge
by klharmany
Summary: Remy Elridge, daughter to American Army General, finds herself in Nazi-occupied France with her family helping the American Resistance against Germany. After meeting the Basterds and the famous Hugo Stiglitz; Remy finds herself in one hot mess.


Author Note:

This is my first story published on Fanfiction. I have an outline for this story in my head but not all the details planned out; so just go with it because I sure will be. I am not a writer or majoring in writing of any sorts. This is a hobby of mine so don't expect this story to be on the level of John Green. Also, I do not own Inglorious Basterds just the O.C. characters. Thank You for reading. Leave me some feedback if you wish and enjoy. Happy reading!

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><p>American Resistance: The Untold Story of Remy Elridge<p>

Chapter 1

First Encounter with the Basterds

I was running as fast as my legs would allow; the bullet lodged in my thigh prevented me from a proper runaway. I could feel the warm blood trickle down my leg in my skirt. I ditched the atrocious heels a while back; I never liked wearing them especially when trying to outrun Nazis, speaking of which, I could hear the sons of a bitches not far from me.

"Come one beautiful! We just want to have a little fun." I heard a nasty laugh and another Nazi said, "Save your energy and use those lovely legs for better use. I want to see you squirm."

I cringed.

Over my dead body would I allow that or perhaps they were into screwing dead women. Ugh- the thought of that made me run faster, the pain in my leg was increasing as well as the blood output. I needed to push myself to keep going. I have come to far to be used as a Nazi whore.

A tree stump that grew out of the ground snapped me out of my thoughts as my feet gave away underneath me, allowing me to fall straight in the dirt.

Their boots got heavier as they were closing in. I couldn't feel my wounded leg and it would not let me up; my own limb betraying me. The only thing left to do was to crawl. So there I was, crawling on the ground like a bug, awaiting my death.

"Look what we have here fellas! The bitch it crawling on the ground where she belongs, getting ready for us men." I have come to hate the German accent, especially that man's. I continued to crawl away from these disgusting pigs leaving behind the rest of my dignity. I felt my ankle being grabbed and pulled by the Nazi. "Where do you think you're going? I haven't had any fun with you yet." He started pulling at my blouse, ripping the top buttons open. With all my might, I kneed him where the sun don't shine with my good leg and slapped his face; I wasn't going out without a fight.

"Verdammt noch mal (goddamn it)," he yelled in German. I wasn't sure what he yelled but it sounded rude and I knew he was angry. I go in for another hit but he got to me first. My cheek stung with a fresh cut from his rings on his middle finger and thumb. Just as he pulled out a knife gunshots filled the air. The German and I looked up to see his fellow soldiers fall to the ground dead. Before he could react a tall beefy man pulled the Nazi off of me, freeing my body from his greedy hands.

Holy Cow! What is going on? The man has a military uniform on but I could not make out where from; that is until he spoke. Maybe my ears were deceiving me because I heard a Boston accent. It couldn't be. Could it?

His unmistakable Boston accent rang through the air again as he talked to my capture, "What do you think you're doing to this girl. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" Another man in a uniform that sounded German replied, "Nazi's don't know the meaning of the word Donnie. Just kill him."

Wait just a gosh darn second; an American and a German?

The 'bad' German said with a scoff, "None of your fucking business you brute." Oh no! This is not going to end well.

The Boston man, apparently his name was Donnie, took one last look at the Nazi and shot him in the right temple. Good riddance, I thought, but at what cost. Were these men just as horrible?

"Hello little lady" a man with a brown mustache and a jagged scar on his neck directed to me. "Are you alright?"

"Are-are you guys American?" I choked out. The group of men chuckled, apparently this was funny to them but I was curious and quite confused. "Some of us are. But you don't sound like you're from around here either." They all stared at me waiting for a response.

Should I tell them? Would that danger the resistance plan? Before I could decide wither or not to reply the southern man kneeled down to me with a gentle smile. "Maybe ya will be a little more comfortable if we were properly introduced. I am Lt. Aldo Raine and these men and I are the Basterds."


End file.
